I touched it

I didn't think people were so ready to admit that they touched it, too. I touched mine and it didn't work either. but I already knew that.

that's why women feel so safe with me.

kids, boyz, and blogbrothers.

marek and ken
drinking in a tree
f-a-l-l-i-n-g

first comes blog
then comes booze
then comes marek taking a snooze.

suckin his thumb
wettin his drawers
shopping at them online girly stores.

Jeneane PR work works

Jeneane, I never coupled with a hard candy wrapper. These are unsubstantiated allegations about my having sex with a candy wrapper, however I will take warm pussy anytime. And I have to go and drink with Ken. He just keeps raising those toasts and don't forget to toss those lotto stubs.

jacket blurbs for the other ones

for RB

"His journeys into the finer adult video stores, online porn sites, and his penchant for vintage Barbies, coupled with his background in obstetrics and gynocology, uniquely qualify him to bring the benefit of gummy bears to the forefront of our lives today."

and for marek:

"His journeys into the remote suburbs of Dallas, Polish delicatessens, and his obsession with licking other people's temples, coupled with his background in hard candy, uniquely qualify him to bring the benefit of long-lost lotto ticket stubs to the forefront of our lives today."

Band of Brothers

To you, my brothers, a toast...

Raise your glass to sex, to sweat, to heavy breathing and laughter, to biting, to arched backs and hair. Raise your glass to handcuffs and ice and an open window. To christmas lights, to no lights. To being so good at multitasking. To falling asleep and waking up and going at it again. And again. To not stopping for more than a few minutes to catch your breath. Raise your glass the saying "if there's a will then there's a way."

Drink to that! And when your done with your drink let's go at it again.

Long lost traditions

RB points us to that asshole Gregg Braden where I find this famouse line. "His journeys into the remote mountain villages, monasteries, and temples of times past, coupled with his background in the hard sciences, uniquely qualify him to bring the benefit of long-lost traditions to the forefront of our lives today" - It is perfect, no? A whiff of mysticism, don't you wish to be that person? Don't you wish to go to those mountain villages? those temples of times past? - A sentence to cause everlasting spiritual orgasm. (YES, thank you, having one right now).

And isn't it an opiate phrase to say "long-lost traditions". Yes, that's the one. Feeling mellow now. Going under. Take all my money. I want all your books.

I hate this thing about RB that he just fucks with my head by pointing to this bullshit. But this bullshit is shaping my community. Fuck. We are so fucked.

sky fell down on her Twin Henhouses

all noise - all the time: "'Ah, but who will take my meaning,' said Chicken Little as the sky fell down on her Twin Henhouses. 'Not me,' said The Association for Humanistic Psychology, which mailed me Gregg's amazing brochure. 'Not me,' said The Association for Transpersonal Psychology, listed on the flyer as 'in cooperation with' -- where for cooperation read cahoots. 'Not me,' said The Saybrook Graduate School & Research Center (formerly The Humanistic Psychology Institute, a.k.a. Esalen II), which also endorses Braden's barbarous brand of barely intelligible bio-spiritual bullshit. A free sample, you say? Sure, why not"

God Code Q&A with RB

On God Code and other things...: "Me, I don't think, you know, like, Science Is The Answer. But neither do I think that Spiritual Snake Oil Is The Answer. Both are epistemologically bankrupt stabs in the dark at a body of knowledge we all know was done in long ago, not by Nietzsche as some suppose, but -- get a clue! -- by the butler in the library with the lead pipe. My personal beliefs have not wavered from the credo that supported so many of us through the ominous onomatopoetry of the ontologically omnivorous '60s:

Acid Is The Answer! ...uh... What Was The Question?

more...On God Code and other things...

I told you...

Jeneane did it

Does the damn thing work?
No. It never did. I didn't touch it and even if I did it wasn't working anyway and fuck off cause I am not going to repeat myself that this shit didn't work, ever fucking ever, you hear? You Hear you fucker. It never worked and I don't give a fuck if you asked me if I touched it or not. 'twas broken before I got there.

Actually it was Ken. Yeah, He touched it before me. It didn't work either. So when I touched it I fucking knew already it didn't work so ask Ken, you fucker!

And then Jeneane touched it too. She knew it didn't fucking work either but she touched it anyway, just to see how fucking broken it really was. So we all touched it but it never worked, ok? now fuck off.

Marek did it.

does the damn thing work?

No.

Did it ever work?

Yes.

Did you touch it last?

Who, me?

Are you who I think you are?

No.

Does the damn thing work?

No.

Did you touch it?

Yes.

Did you break it?

Mom? Is that you? I put the feather pillows on the floor and poured water on them so they'd make a neat squishy sound when I jumped off your big bed into the middle of them.

You ruined them.

Yes.

Go to your room.

okay.

Differences

Marek J = Perpetual Idiot

Does the damn thing work?
No
Did you mess with it?
Yes
You Idiot !!!
Does anyone know?
Yes
You poor Idiot
Can you blame someone else?
No

for (int i = 1; i < 0; i = i + 1) {System.out.println("You Idiot!"}

Bada Bing

Simple Problem Resolution

what to do next

all noise - all the time: "While the reasons the gonzo model is necessary and inevitable may be complex, the method is simple. Hook up, connect, co-create, procreate. Redeploy. Foment joy. Brothers in arms, sisters of Avalon, champions of the world get to work. "

Wealth Bondage Is

Wealth Bondage: "To love freedom is Patriotic, but watch what you say because the walls have ears. So come! Pass the bottle, and salted nuts, among friends and friendly strangers. The door is wide open, for friend or foe. "Do what you will," as Rabelais said. Today is Carnival; tomorrow is Lent. Tonight, let's sing another song, before we go, one of the old songs...

We can make the world a better place, at least in our own imagination. as we squint at life through the bottom of a beer glass. Who knows, perhaps, some day we will even do something good. "

What are Weblogs? Ass-wiping journals of course.

RB from 2 years ago commenting on Dave Winer's 'What are Weblogs?'

Dave's post of this morning, What are weblogs?, was fine as far as it went. But what seemed to be missing in those level-headed definitions -- to my twisted head anyway -- was any sense of humor, fun, absurdity, surrealism, lunacy, derangement, folly, preposterousness, irrationality, nonsense, balderdash, blatherskite, bunkum, bullshit, and divine madness. In short, those qualities that continue to make life worth living. In shorter still: gonzo.

And now you know.

...and in case you wanted to find out how they used to blog 500 years ago here is the short discourse on ass-wiping from none other than Monsieur Rabelais Zazuzi Zazuzon (as quoted by RB on the same archive page I pointed to you earlier)

Afterwards, I wiped my ass, said Gargantua, with a kerchief, with a pillow, with a pantoufle, with a pouch, with a pannier, but that was a wicked and unpleasant torchcul; then with a hat. Of hats, note, that some are shorn, and others shaggy, some velveted, others covered with taffities, and others with satin. The best of all these is the shaggy hat, for it makes a very neat abstertion of the fecal matter. Afterwards, I wiped my tail with a hen, a cock, with a pullet, with a calf's skin, with a hare, with a pigeon, with a cormorant, with an attorney's bag, with a montero, with a coif, with a falconer's lure. But to conclude, I say and maintain, that of all torcheculs, arsewisps, bumfodders, tail napkins, bung-hole cleansers, and wipe breeches, there is none in the world comparable to the neck of a goose that is well downed, if you hold her neck betwixt you legs. And believe me therein upon mine honour, for you will thereby feel in your nockhole a most wonderful pleasure, both in regard to the softness of the said down, and the temperate heat of the goose, which is easily communicated to the bum-gut, and the rest of the inwards, in so far as to come even to the regions of the heart and brains. And think not that the felicity of the heroes and demigods in the Elysian fields consisteth either in their Asphodel, Ambrosia or Nectar, as our old women here used to say; but in this, according to my judgement, that they wipe their tails with the neck of a goose, holding her head betwixt their legs, and such is the opinion of Master John of Scotland, alias Scotus.

An important day

Speaking of "porting around"

On this very day 99 years ago, the very first subway, the IRT (Interboro Rapid transit) opened in New York City.

Also on this day, in 1947, You Bet Your Life, the Groucho Marx radio game/entertainment show, premeired on the ABC Radio Network.

Is that a coincidence, or what?

Oh, one more thing: Ruby Dee, John Cleese, and Ralph Kiner all share October 27th birthdays. Fran Lebowitz, too.

Porting potty around the net

Jeneane said something about "the test of building the world's tallest port-a-potty," but this was the best I could do with a limited supply of Q-tips and a pocketknife.